


Augurey's Court

by Gcgraywriter



Series: Augurey's Court [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anonymity, Correspondence, Dating, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, M/M, Online Dating, Other, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22191271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gcgraywriter/pseuds/Gcgraywriter
Summary: Having trouble connecting to other witches and wizards? looking for friendship and/or love? Just wanting someone to talk to or listen to your problems?Contact us here as Augurey's Court, where we match you according to your preference and compatibility to other like-minded wizards.Please fill out the form and send us your form by owl to be part of our growing community.Thank you for your interest in Augurey's Court - Where every connection is a good omen.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Series: Augurey's Court [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597396
Comments: 16
Kudos: 17





	1. Lonely Omens

**Author's Note:**

> If you love Pansy/Neville, join us in the Paneville Support Group on Facebook. Also, keep your eyes open for the Panevi11e drabblefest coming November 2020.

“Hey, Moonbeam. What you up to?” Ginny asked as she pushed into the spare room. Books and photo albums cluttered the floor as Luna stared out of the window. Trees swayed and thrashed outside, resembling the weeds in the river which ran the length of their cottage. Ginny’s eyes roamed over Luna’s pale skin as she neared. Her knees held up her chin, as her wand tangled in the blonde hair above her ear where the shaft of pale, polished beech perched. She didn’t respond immediately, she never did. It was one of the qualities of Luna that she both loved and loathed as it made her confront her own impatience. When she wanted to jump with both feet, without regard to where she would land, Luna would like to ponder and dwell on an answer to ensure the best response. 

“I was just thinking about the Auguries.”

Ginny picked up a quill from the nearby desk where Luna had been sketching. The woeful, ragged-looking bird blinked up at her as she placed the feather back in the inkwell. Luna’s updated compendium of magical British animals was coming along; however, she remained hopeful of finally landing her eyes on the illusive Leucistic Regal Phasianidae before the book went to print. 

“The Auguries? Why’s that love? Do the Lichtenstein team need a replacement mascot?” She smirked as she knelt on the floor by Luna’s chair. She looked up into the serene pixie-like features and watched as the silvery eyes focused on her and warmed. 

“Deliah hasn’t been hit by another bludger, has she?” Luna asked, raising her eyebrows. “Darwin would miss her terribly if anything happened to her.”  
Ginny shook her head and smirked as she placed a hand onto Luna’s cold foot. 

“They’re fine. I was joking.” She rolled her eyes as Luna unfolded herself and took hold of her hand. 

“That’s good. Quidditch can be such a dangerous game for birds, Those poor Snidgets.” Luna shook her head, dolefully. 

“My love, Snidgets have not been used in a game of quidditch since the 14th century.” Luna’s gaze was still intent on the trees swaying in the gale. 

The silence spanned for longer than even Ginny’s lengthening patience could take. “But why what did that have to do with Auguries?” She stepped behind her girlfriend and wrapped her arms around her waist. Resting her chin on the shorter woman’s shoulder, they were both able to watch the storm ravage the garden as the leaden clouds rolled over the rambling countryside beyond their hedgerows. Luna squeezed her arms close to hers. 

“I was just thinking how lonely they must be.”

“Lonely?” Ginny asked, pressing her lips to the subtle pulse as Luna’s neck.

“They mate for life,” Luna went on unperturbed as though Ginny hadn’t moved.

“Quite a few birds do,” She replied, she threw up a silent prayer that her beloved would get to the point before her tea went cold in the kitchen. 

“But most birds are showy and pompous. They don’t understand Auguries.” Ginny closed her eyes and tried not to laugh. 

“Nor would they, most birds are half the size of the common Augurey and anyway, they tend not to outsource for a mate.”

“But it must be so lonely,” Luna murmured as she turned from the window and away from Ginny.

Ginny let her go and took a deep breath. Luna was both a wonder and a puzzle, and sometimes she wondered whether she would ever gain the patience needed to figure her out completely. 

“Come on, I made tea; it’s your favourite.”

“Oooh, is it Gurdyroot?” Luna said with a broad smile as she turned around on tiptoe like an excited child. 

“Your dad sent over a red cross food parcel earlier. It’s got all your favourites, Gurdyroot tea, Pickled Pennywort, some Dirigible plum jam and also some Sneezewort fudge. And you’ve got them all to yourself.” Ginny’s stomach rolled at the selection but smiled as Luna passed her on their way to the kitchen. 

“Are you sure? I know how much you love fudge.”

“It’s still quidditch diet season, and it's as restrictive as ever. Maybe next time.” She cringed inwardly hoping that she could get away with the white lie. 

“Ok,” came her response as she danced off towards the kitchen. She paused at the door and gazed down again at the melancholy bird glowering up at her from the sketch pad. Why did she get the feeling that this particular Augurey was undoubtedly going to be an omen of things to come?


	2. Drowning Man

He removed his glassed and grimaced as the words on the page bled together like watercolour ink. He pushed the balls of his palms into his eyes to help relieve the stinging. I was when he pulled his hands away and blinked against the light he realised that it was daylight, not lamplight that stung his eyes. 

Harry pushed his glasses back on and looked at the clock. He waited a moment before the numbers came into focus. Half eight in the morning, already? If his calculations were correct, he’d been reading blasted case reports for almost fourteen hours, on a Friday night. He flung the file down onto the floor next to him and pushed himself up. He knew he needed sleep, but he wanted coffee. 

He took a moment to stretch out the aches from his back and legs before tottering towards the kitchen. He yawned loudly as Kreacher appears beside him. 

“Master,” The wizened elf greeted. 

“Hi, Kreacher. Morning.” He said as another yawn broke through the sentence. 

“Master doesn’t know whether it’s day or night. Burn himself out. He will. Be good for nothing. He will.” The sagging grey skin at his neck wobbled as he shook his head in disapproval. 

“I know, I know. Work it just very busy at the moment, what with the changeover and everything.” Harry yawned again as he sat down at the table. 

“Coffee, Master?” Kreacher asked without comment about Harry’s workload. 

Harry nodded as he ran his nails through his hair and scratched his scalp awake. He looked out of the high windows and watched as a couple walked past, only visible from the knees down. He sighed, remembering when he first joined the Aurors, the late nights out at the pub and the beer. The memory of the hangovers lingered too, but how long had it been since he’d actually gone out and met new people? At what moment had his social life ultimately died like a shrivelled fig?

Harry yawned again and knew the answer had been about the time of his promotion to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. For about a year he hadn’t had a proper nights sleep, from being woken up at stupid o’clock in the morning for various emergencies, to staying late to read incident reports and sign off on case files. Sometimes it felt like drowning, occasionally breaking the surface to gasp desperately for breath before being dragged under again. Even if he had time to have a social life, he didn’t think he could blame anyone for wanting to play second fiddle to all that nonsense. 

He was hoping that the future would calm down. When the final death eater slept in Azkaban and when Hermione finished with her departmental reorganisation. At the moment, it was all hands on deck to make sure that during the reshuffle, no files or cases were miss filed or lost. Harry hoped that by incorporating some more people into the office, it would eventually cut down the amount of work that crossed his desk. One could hope. 

He rested his head on his hands and waited for Kreacher to make the coffee. His eyes drifted shut, and his mind drifted off to somewhere else, where someone fit was making him breakfast, where someone was about to kiss him before he went back to bed. Someone that would tidy the nest of papers he’d made. He just wished that there was someone. It was at times like this he realised just how empty his life had become.

Between work, sleep, seeing Hermione and Ron and avoiding the journalists his life was empty. He wondered what he would do with himself if he were to magically realise a week holiday from somewhere, as he’d intended to do for months. He didn’t know; he didn’t play quidditch anymore what with Ginny being in training and on tour. Ron and Hermione were either at work or at home with the kids. George was always super busy with the joke shop. Luna was off travelling and compiling her compendium. Dean and Seamus were so utterly besotted with each other that it was almost painful to be near to them, even in small doses. Harry felt the envy rise. He wanted someone to look at him the same way that Dean looked at Seamus. 

He huffed and jumped when the teacup landed in front of him. The black liquid steamed, and he took it in his hands. The china was still chilly, but as Harry held it, he felt the warmth spreading through the porcelain. He took a deep breath of the fumes before taking a tentative sip. It was as black as night and as bitter as an old hags ear, but it did the trick.

“Will Master be needing anything else?” Kreacher asked. Harry shook his head just as another yawn hit him. The elf popped out of the room, leaving Harry alone. 

The silence was the first thing that started to niggle at his senses. It was just too loud as it buzzed at him like a swarm of silent bees. He tried to shift in his seat to make some noise, but it was also short-lived to make any real difference. 

The great Harry Potter. He thought to himself. The Boy who lived twice. The golden boy, the saviour. The chosen one, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or Chief as some of the Aurors like to call him. Harry Potter - the man who would die alone, that man which silence killed. 

He smirked at himself and shook his head as he took another sip of coffee, hoping the harsh draught would kill the melodramatic thoughts where they stemmed. A thought occurred to him. He remembered the soppy romance novel he’d pinched from Mrs Weasley. It was a period drama, but the story was about the delicious Mr Mayhugh. The thought of reading some more terrible but steamy fiction brought a blush to his face and chased off the silent bees. 

He’d come to terms with his sexuality in the silence after the battle. The moment he’d seen Ginny again and realised that she wasn’t what he was looking for. He knew he liked girls, Ginny and Cho proved that but he liked guys too, some of his thoughts and dreams of Bill Weasley, Cedric Diggory and also Oliver wood had established that beyond dispute. 

Since 4th year, he couldn’t even comprehend the thought of meeting someone and dating them as most people did, only to find that his sexual exploits were splashed all over the front page of the prophet the following morning. He didn’t think he could bear it if all his extended family knew, not that it was a secret, but no one wanted to have their laundry aired to the nation. 

There was an audible pop as Kreacher teleported the post to the kitchen. A stack of yet more case reports came through along with a letter from Teddy, some junk mail and some fan mail that must have made it through the wards. 

He threw the case notes to the side and began rifling through the junk. Magical window cleaning, floo sweeping services and the usual take away menu’s from some new restaurant from Diagon alley. The typical fair he thought just before his eyes caught sight of a letter from Ginny. He smiled as he pulled it forward, recognising the business-like and bold handwriting. It had been an age since he’d spoken to her or Luna. He wondered why she was writing. He pulled the letter forward and proceeded to open it with care. He wasn’t up to date with what George had been cooking up at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes either.


	3. On Display

She rolled her eyes as she pressed the chilled glass to her lips — the notes of black cherries and tobacco filling the air. The flavour intensified as the dark liquid touched her tongue. That was one thing that these parties were always good for, it was an unlimited source of drink, almost enough to drown one’s sorrows if one was willing to be crass enough to stoop so low. She smiled at yet another wizard as he caught her eye as he walked by. She held herself ridged despite wanting to stamp her foot down in irritation. He was the fifth wizard who had walked by without even a second glance. Well, a third glance, maybe. 

There was the full-frontal glance, to check you’d be presentable to mummy and daddy, then there was the glance back to make sure you’d be suitable as a bed partner. She smirked at the hypocrisy of it all. It was a glorified cattle market, and she was a prize heifer waiting for the highest bidder. She took another angry swig of her wine and took solace in knowing that she was the hottest woman here. 

Her pale skin looked almost luminous against the midnight blue of her dress, and the tight, bejewelled bodice tugged her in, improving her cleavage and sinching in her already minuscule waist. She remembered what her mother had said; a tiny stomach meant a curvier behind. 

She sent to take another sip of wine, but the thought of the family matriarch stopped her; her beautiful-but emotionally-distant mother, who had to start the day with a vodka and finish it with a gin. 

She fingered the stem of her wineglass as she felt the slight thread of insecurity sneak into her ironclad resolve. She glanced down at the garnet liquid before looking back up into the crowd. She loathed these pure-blood traditions, parading eligible maidens around so that they could find suitable husbands. She was older than most, that was undoubtedly one point against her. She wouldn’t be able to produce as many heirs as some of the other stock in the room. 

She’d been to so many of these events now and knew that no one in their right mind would approach her or ask her to dance. She was more likely to be tomorrows little secret than the future wife of some wealthy family. She’d gotten to the point where she didn’t care any more. The pureblood pool had gotten so diluted in Britain that most of the men in the room were from foreign shores with not a singer English word behind his lips. 

She rolled her eyes again and took another sip, ignoring the thought of her mother with the shakes. She had nothing against foreigners, she was friends with Blaise after all. At least that Italian wizard could converse. There would be none of that here. Just rutting and grunting through marriage until a little heir appeared. Sounded so romantic, she thought dryly.

“Stand up straight, Daughter.” Came the brusque mutter from her father as he passed, looking sophisticated and elegant in his plum dress robes. 

“I am at least still standing, Father.” She grit back as she tried to soften her bared teeth. She watched with slight satisfaction as he glanced over to the bar where her mother leant awkwardly near the bar. Still beautiful but worse for wear. He father ignored her and walked to a group of older men and proceeded to greet them warmly as he waved to his daughter. 

She smiled and turned away as she pushed down the shudder the erupted up her spine. The idea of creating children with anyone her father's age made her skin crawl. She sipped at her wine only to realise that her glass was woefully drained. She sighed and placed the glass on one of the trays the waiters toted past. 

She thought that after the war, with all the reforms and changes that shit like this would become outdated and no longer necessary, it had been one of the main reasons that she had remained in the dungeon during the battle and hadn’t escaped to fight. She had no allegiance to the dark lord, only a healthy dose of self-preservation. She didn’t want to fight her friend's parents, nor did she want to fight her friends. She wasn’t a coward, but she was a survivor. 

She crossed her arms behind her back, unconsciously pushing her small chest forward. Once the ordeal was over, she was determined to go out and have a good time, rub up against some men in a bar somewhere and make them want her. Somewhere where she could hold up a middle finger to the establishment and her parents and feel that connection with another living soul even if it was only a quick rendezvous in the toilets.

She rubbed at her skin and wondered whether, like her mother, she had an addiction. She longed to feel warm, rough hands against her skin and lips against her throat. She wanted to be admired and worshipped, but most of all and arguably worst of all, she longed to be loved. 

Her eyes swept over the assembly and knew that out of all the men in the room there, none of them was looking for an equal or a partner, all of them were looking for a trophy for their mantel. She was no one’s trophy; she was the race, the battle; she was the bull with the horns. She took a final deep breath before coming to her conclusion.  
Fuck it. 

She stepped off the pedestal she’d be placed on and walked out. She felt her fathers eyes follow her as she retreated and knew that there’d be a beating waiting upon her return, but she couldn’t stay on display another minute longer. Her skin itched as she retreated to her room, she needed air and something so much stronger than a merlot.  
She slid out of her formal dress and into the skintight minidress and leather jacket she preferred. She slipped into her heels, and before you could say apparate, she was behind her favourite bar in Knockturn alley. 

She hummed in excitement as she drew in the sounds and smells, the earthy, moist scent of life, before pushing into the tight and hot nest of bodies. She shed her jacket as she felt hands rub over her skin and squeeze her arse. Someone bought her a drink which she readily accepted and paid for with a lingering glance and a promise for more later.  
She took in a deep breath and drank in the realness of it all, the safe press of bodies to her own, making her feel safe and wanted and protected. She knew it wasn’t genuine affection or love, but in her world, it was as close as she came to love.


	4. To Be Someone Else

“Merlin’s saggy tits!” Ron cursed from somewhere upstairs. Hermione closed her eyes and counted to ten. How many times did he have to remind him about swearing in front of Rose? True she wasn’t even one yet, but it still infuriated her. There was a moment of utter silence before he hollered down an apology as if he could feel her discomfort.   
She shook her head before looking down at the sleeping bundle in her arms; her beautiful red-headed daughter, Rose. Her tiny, cupid bow lips puckered as her fingers twitched from her slumber. She felt like she had missed so much of her daughter's life already. It was a constant battle trying to sort out the wizarding world and trying to keep some semblance of normality in her own life. 

She was relieved that both her mother and Molly were so hands-on, helping her raise her and keep on top of her workload. She was the youngest Ministers since the creation of the role in the seventeen hundreds. It was an enormous undertaking and following on in Shakebolts footsteps was proving to be challenging. 

She’d found several loopholes in the systems that Kingsley had put in place and decided to tackle them before she could get her house in order. Most thought it a good idea, but as usual, there were always the grumblers. She smiled to herself as she gazed at the baby, not wanting to put her down for a second, Her snuffled breathing soothing her anxiety overwork. 

“That boy will never learn.” Said Molly jovially as she walked into the room with a cup of tea. She placed it down on the table next to her and then sat on the chair beside her. “How are you coping with it all?”

“I was thinking about that; I could never manage without your help, Molly. Thank you! You and Arthur have been a godsend.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s not like I’ve got a house full of children anymore.” She said with a sigh. “I remember all the noise and the chatter and the rows and the business of it all. I can now actually sit and think, and I’ll tell you what. It’s unbearable.” She said with a laugh as she sipped her own tea. “I keep complaining to the other boys. They need to bring my grandbabies over more so that I can look after them. But I haven’t seen Bill’s two since Christmas and Percy says that Molly has chickenpox so they’ll not be coming over for dinner Sunday.” The older woman paused for a moment as she too gazed at the sleeping beauty. “Reminds me of Ginny when she was born, I couldn’t stop looking at her. I’d wanted a daughter for so long.” Molly smiled, and Hermione could see the tears welling up in her eyes. “You and Ron have done a great job.” 

“Eh, Molly?” Arthur called down, and Hermione had to hide the smirk before Molly answered. 

“Yes, dear?” She called as she raised an eyebrow. 

“I may need your help. These muggle instructions don’t seem to make sense.” She cleared her throat to cover her giggle. If nothing else, Arthur was always reliable for lifting the tension. She gently lifted Rose up and back into the bassinet, which began to rock gently. 

Crookshanks wandered stiffly into the room and stretched out next to the crib as a silent protector as both She and Molly climbed the stairs. 

Molly pushed open the door of the nursery as Hermione coughed through the smoke. 

“Arthur, dear, Why is there smoke coming from the baby’s bed?”

“I can explain.” He stuttered as he stood up, a singed bit of paper smoking in his hands. 

Hermione looked between him and a grumpy looking Ron, covered in soot and sweat. “I said we should just transfigure it, but no! Dad wanted to do it the muggle way.” Ron stood up and dusted himself down. “Would've been finished ages ago if he’d let me.”

“These things take patience, Ron. It’s always a good idea to follow a muggles example where we can. That way, we can better understand their strifes.” His father lectured without looking at him. Ron rolled his eyes before looking back at Hermione. 

He smiled, looking at her softly as he pulled her to him and hugged her, his chin resting on her head. Hermione sighed, it had been hard work and uphill battles at times, but Ron came through when she needed him to. They had grown a lot, and they were happy, for the most part.

“Don’t worry, we can sort it later, Rose still has room in her crib for now,” Hermione whispered with a smirk.

“How is our beautiful daughter?”

“Hopefully still asleep, although Molly told me that she almost took her first steps today.”

Ron's eyes clouded for a second before he smiled. Hermione knew that look. It was the look of a parent who was missing out on his child. They both were. 

“How about, this weekend we make it just about us three? We can stay in and chill, and spend time together. It feels like I’ve not seen either of you for months.”

“To be honest, you’ve been in the Spencer case, so we haven’t seen each other for months. You need to talk to that boss of yours.” Hermione smirked. 

“I haven’t seen Harry either. He’s usually in his office, buried behind a pile of paperwork.”

“Poor Harry, maybe we should make some time for him too?” 

“If we can’t make time for family, how can we make time for friends?” Ron asked with a sigh. 

“Good point. I’m hoping after we’ve trained the new scribes; hopefully, we’ll be able to reduce how busy the office is, emergencies notwithstanding of course.” Ron kissed her forehead and nodded. 

“That would help, then I might be able to go out with the lads occasionally. Did you know it was Mickey’s stag night last Friday?” Ron asked, stepping back. 

Hermione shook her head even though she couldn’t put a face to ‘Mickey’ but had heard Ron speak about him in the past. She smiled and wondered what it would be like to go out with friends, without being Minister, or mom etc. She wondered what it would be like to connect to other people and have a separate life that didn’t involve dummies or diplomats. What it would be like to be someone else, someone anonymous, just for a while. 

Ron squeezed her arms as they separated to allow Arthur and Molly back into the room. 

“Arthur, dear. I think we can fully sympathise with our muggle counterparts over their unassembled furniture from Merlin-knows-where, but I do think this mess requires transfiguration.”

“But, Molly. Dear?”

“No, Arthur!” Molly replied firmly. “A baby’s bed should not start its life as a smoking lump. Do it now so that we can leave them in peace.”

“Yes, dear.” He replied with a sigh as he pulled out his wand to fix the mess they’d made.


	5. Brewing a Storm

In the dim glow of the fire, Luna could still hear the Auguries flying about, their cries tangling with the howl of the wind and the rapping of the rain against the darkened window. She continued to stroke Ginny’s hair as the redhead drifted off, the Quidditch magazine long since discarded to the floor. 

It was one of Luna’s hobbies to watch Ginny as she slept. She liked to count the freckles that dusted her cheeks. She felt so lucky to have this woman in her life, her vibrancy and spontaneity made every new day enjoyable and wonderous. She often wondered where she would be if Ginny had never come into her life. She shuddered, thinking of how desolate her world would be. 

Her mind wandered back to the months spent in the Malfoy cellar, the most desolate time of her life. The cold seemed to harbour in her bones as cold as the grave. The Augurey’s wail outside the thick walls brought no comfort to her then. Storms meant a drop in temperature and more water on the ground to soak into her clothes. The sensation of never being able to get dry or warm was something she could never truly forget.

Ginny fidgeted, drawing her back to the present and the warmth of their living room. Luna smiled as she brushed the hair from her face as her eyes passed over her lips and her mind remembered how those silken cushions felt when pressed against hers. Memories of Ginny cuddling up to her back to braid her hair, and the way that she could make her forget her own name in the darkest hours of the night. The warmth and emotion seemed to chase back the sadness, but this time her disquiet lingered. 

She didn’t know how to put it into words, what currently made her mind so unsettled and uneasy. Her thoughts drifted back to the cellar as she watched the flames dance in the hearth. She vaguely recalled trying to press into a corner to try and shelter some heat, but the shivering wouldn’t stop. Her jaw ached from where she clenched her teeth together to stop the rattling. She heard a noise at the gate and jumped up, her stiff bones hurt as she squinted into the darkness. 

“Lovegood? Are you here?” Came the voice, young and unsteady. The flames in the sconces around her flared to life, bringing with it a hint of warmth. 

She stood and looked at him, one of her captors and instead of feeling dread or angry, she felt embarrassment at being so dirty and smelly. She watched as Draco stood before her in his pristine, black suit, making it even more evident that she was disgusting to behold. 

His face appeared almost skeletal in the dim light as the skin drew painfully over his pale skin. The dark smudges under his eyes showed that he was experiencing his own turmoil above ground. Luna stepped closer as she suddenly felt pity for him. 

“I bet you’re hungry. I brought your food and a blanket. The Auguries promise a storm tonight.”

“Thank you, Draco,” She whispered, as they stood there staring. “Are you alright?” even at a whisper, she felt her words bounce off the stone walls, surrounding them in a hissing cloud. 

Draco looked at her for a moment, surprise and pain evident on his face before he snorted derisively to hide his shock. He shook his head and pointed his wand at her. She didn’t move; she didn’t feel threatened by him. 

“Why do you ask me that? You’re the one locked in our cellar. You have no reason to ask me that.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” She asked as she stepped closer again. “We’re both prisoners here. You’re just in a nicer cell,”

He started to reply but stopped and shook his head. “I’ve got to go before they catch me talking to you.” He said as he rushed forward. He pushed the blanket forward into her arms and then the apples and bread into her palm. He cursed and jerked away when he felt how cold her fingers were. 

He pointed his wand and cast a warming charm over her, causing a moan of pleasure to slip from her mouth. “I’ll try and bring some more when I can. Stay warm, that wall over there leans against the kitchen fire. It should be the warmest a driest place down here.” 

She remembered the tingling sensation as warmth vibrated up her spine and through her extremities. She almost forgot his presence as she let the waves of heat run through her.   
“Thank you, Draco. Stay safe up there.” She whispered. He looked at her for another heartbeat before rushing out and locking the gate behind himself. 

Luna waited another few seconds before heading to the corner Draco had pointed to, and sure enough, it was out of the draft, and the stones were warm. She tucked herself in and nibbled on the bread and apple as she felt herself begin to doze for the first time since being there. 

Her thoughts often drifted back to Draco, especially when she could hear the Auguries cry. Even after all the years since Volemorts downfall. She wondered whether Draco was still a prisoner, cooped up in the cavernous and hollow manor. Over the years, she had thought of writing to him, offering a hand to hold through to haunting silence that followed after the dead were buried and the pound of flesh claimed. She never knew what to say, how to offer such assistance. Their brief connection in the cellars wouldn’t allow more.  
She wondered whether her help would be wanted as she sat and stroked Ginny’s hair. She didn’t know how if she could have withstood the bleak loneliness if left alone once the battle was over. 

Not once had she seen any mention of any suitors for the Malfoy fortune, nor, in fact, had she heard any whispers about him in general. The only cause she had to think that he hadn’t died was that the prophet hadn’t done a unique celebratory addition: Dingdong and Draco’s dead. 

There were probably so many people that the war had touched in so many ways that just wanted an outlet to be able to talk to someone who could understand or be able to strike up a friendship or even better a relationship — so many lonely hearts crying out for someone to listen. 

Luna knew that Draco needed someone to chase away those demons. He wouldn’t do it himself. She knew that he thought he probably deserved every demon that floated through the halls at Malfoy Manor, so many people did. She knew that Harry for one struggled with survivors guilt, that what the mind healers called it. But the mind healers could only help identify the problem. There seemed to be no continuing support for people once the initial treatment finished. 

She felt the start of an idea, like a nargle finding Mistletoe in a midnight forest. She looked down at Ginny and watched as the coppery tendrils fell through her fingers as the woman snored quietly through it all. She felt determined that everyone should have someone there to help them navigate the dark times, even if only to offer warmth and a blanket. 

Had she been on her own, she would have jumped up and set to work, regardless of the lateness of the hour. But with Ginny on her lap, she knew that she would have to reign in her excitement and do some smart thinking before she mentioned it. 

She pulled her wand from behind her ear and flicked it at Ginny, who began to levitate. Luna moved her to the bed, making sure that thoroughly tucked in before rushing off to her study to start putting her plan into action. 

She would write to all of her friends and get their support and input and hopefully rope them into helping her. She knew that Hermione would love the concept. Not that she was interested in such things, this project had good publicity written all over it. 

She flung herself into her chair and began ruffling through her stationary. She stuck her tongue out in concentration as she tucked her wand behind her ear again. Pulling at the papers and lilac sheet gently cascaded down and she smiled. That would do nicely. She would need to get the wording right, and she’d have to come up with an apt name too.   
She set to work as if lives depended on it, and she reasoned that people died of loneliness all the time, so really time was of the essence. Her pens and paintbrush brushed frantically as the bird's inspirational cry outside quietened as the wind died away.


End file.
